


Long Tongued Liar

by theskyeskye



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clergymen, Demons, M/M, take me to church au trash send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys can't sleep, so instead he tries to pray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Tongued Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Just a brief drabble, my contribution to the take me to church au that started up on tumblr oh so long ago. Finally posting it here.

His eyes felt weary. Tightness pulled at the corners as he fought to keep them open. The cold of the stone floor was seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his bones. The hall was chilly and dark, the gentle sound of candles flickering was the only sound that joined his labored breaths. He clutched a little tighter at the beads in his hands, thumbing over them while he mouthed words his throat was too dry to speak. 

He couldn’t sleep. His dreams were plagued with images of filth. Depravity ravaged his mind each time he laid his head down. He’d taken to prayer in the evening when all others were sleeping, tucked peacefully into their beds. He cleaned the floors until his fingers were raw and pruned. He dusted until the congestion made his head ache. He knelt at the alter, and prayed. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen... Hail Mary, full of grace...”

In the quiet hours of early morning, while the clock ticked idly onward past three, Rhys waited for morning. This was not how he had hoped his life would unfold. He had knelt at this alter with a contrite heart many times. Perhaps this was his trial to go through, perhaps it was God’s plan for him to suffer in the darkness before he could bask in the light. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace _-_ -”

His eyes slipped shut, sweet, oppressive darkness fell across his vision, sleep threatening to pull him down. The chill of the stone under his knees wasn’t enough to keep him awake anymore. It had been three days since he’d properly slept. He’d fought because each night, the same dream haunted him. 

There, under the guise of Father Jack, was a demon, reaching for him in the darkness, burning through his clothes to leave his skin marked with ruby red hand prints, blistering him sweetly, leaving him gasping and damp between his legs. Father Jack would never hold him in these ways. He was Rhys’ friend and a mentor. Jack would never touch him or kiss him.  

Rhys had kissed a girl once when he was younger, on the cheek, and his father was there, disapproving, shaking his head, so he’d stayed away. These late night visits from the creature wearing Jack’s face came with a different kind of kiss that left his mouth feeling full of fire. He could taste smoke and it slid down slow into his belly until he was so filled he burst. Even in these brief moments as his eyes just slid shut, he could see the light of the demon, shining through Jack’s scar in the darkness. He was closing in, taking advantage of the brief moment in which Rhys slipped from one plane of existence, into another. 

_‘Pray for us sinners_...’

He spoke around a jagged smile and a forked tongue as he approached. 

‘ _ **Are you a sinner, Rhys? Is the sweetness you feel when I’m deep inside you really a sin? How can it be? Your body was made to feel, isn’t that right?**_ ’

‘ _Get away from me, devil!_ ’

The demon laughed, his hands reaching out to snare Rhys around his shoulders and pull him into an embrace. He leaned close as Rhys struggled against him, tongue flicking against the shell of his ear as he spoke. 

‘ ** _You see, your lips say no, but your body... Is screaming Yes! Yes, Jack-- Ooooh, Jack_** \--’ his words melted into exaggerated moans, mimicking Rhys’ voice almost perfectly, leaving him feeling exposed, ‘ ** _Jack please, please just fu_** \--’ 

Rhys startled awake with a gasp, feeling the grasp of arms around his shoulders even as the dimness of candlelight flooded his vision. Heat radiated beside him, holding him up, keeping him from the floor. 

“No! I would never--” he shoved at his captor, but he wasn’t allowed to escape. Stronger, broader hands held him fast, grasping his wrists while shushing him, cooing, trying to cajole the startled priest. 

“Hey, hey, hey-- woah-- Alright, not the face! Rhys, it’s only me.”

Rhys eyes focused in on a face not full of hellfire. A soft pink scar and mismatched eyes were staring down at him with a mixture of worry and amusement. Rhys gulped a few more breaths and forced himself to settle, staring, wide eyed, wondering what Jack was doing here so late at night. He supposed, Jack must have been wondering the same thing about him.

“I’m sorry I... Father, I didn’t realize,” Rhys’ face was pale from lack of sleep, the circles gathering under his eyes dark, like bruises, he knew he looked a sight. How he’d managed to avoid being caught here, burning the midnight oil so far, was actually a bit miraculous. Still. Why did it have to be _him_? God was punishing him.

“You were having quite the dream, there, kiddo,” the words were accompanied by a laugh so familiar, but twisted, more sinister than he remembered, tainted by the laughter of his demon. 

“I was... having a nightmare. Father I... Can I tell you something? Can you promise me you won’t... Tell anyone else,” Rhys swallowed a growing lump in his throat as Jack’s grasp on him went slowly more and more lax. The fingers that had been clinging so tightly to his wrists were now sliding up to rub his biceps. It felt too intimate after everything he’d seen in his dreams to have the real Jack touch him. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pry out of his grasp now that Jack had loosened up. God could see what was in his heart, this was his personal demon. He looked at Jack’s lips and thought about how much softer they must feel in real life than in his nightmares.

“Sure. You can trust me,” Jack said, and Rhys chose to believe him, despite the way his gut wrenched at the idea. _This isn’t a demon, this is your friend_.

“Lately... Every time I go to sleep, I’m... I’ve been visited by temptation and I don’t know how to make it stop. I’ve been here, three nights in a row, praying for guidance or relief, but it’s...” he swallowed uneasily, pausing, trying to find a way to say this without revealing too much, “getting worse.”

Jack was unreadable, face schooled into something perfectly emotionless, while still somehow, looking very attentive. Rhys bit into his lower lip, trying to keep eye contact, but the longer his gaze lingered, the warmer his cheeks felt. 

“Temptation is tricky,” Jack said, at length, “even Christ faced temptation... Sometimes the best solution, when all else fails...”

Rhys was hanging on for every word, the solution was on the tip of Jack’s tongue and the anticipation was killing Rhys. _When all else fails_? Jack leaned a little closer, his nose almost brushing against Rhys’ own. Jack took a breath, parted his lips, and spoke with a slight grin.

“...is to give in.”

Rhys made a noise of feeble protest and pushed at Jack’s chest, putting distance between them as he struggled to get to his feet. He’d been on his knees so long his legs quaked beneath him and he dropped down again, fistful of beads crunching into the floor, their glass breaking and puncturing Rhys’ hand at the sudden impact. 

“Give in? Christ didn’t give in,” Rhys countered, his fingers feeling warm as blood started to pool under his palm. Jack moved closer again, grasping Rhys’ hand, tugging it up from the floor to slowly pluck glass from him. The pain was bearable, it hardly registered in the wake of everything else. 

“No. Sure. But he’s the son of God. Do you really think you will ever be as holy as him? If we all could face temptation like he did, then what was the point of his sacrifice?” the way Jack spoke sent cold spreading through Rhys’ veins. 

“Father, I don’t understand, I--”

“Rhys. It’s alright. Don’t let your fear of sinning keep you from taking care of yourself. Your body is a temple, right? And right now, you’re sort of... letting that temple fall apart. So get some sleep, and if you’re visited by temptation, remember that in the morning, I’ll be waiting in the confessional for you,” Jack’s words were silky smooth, soothing even, and he made it sound so easy. 

“Yes, Father,” Rhys whispered, slowly finding his way to his feet again. Jack stood with him and reached out, patting his cheek, then stilled to cup his jaw, running his thumb over Rhys’ lips.

“Atta boy. Now, _off to bed with you_.”


End file.
